


Can't Help Myself

by MoonlitMusings



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Crying, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, pre-reunion jupeter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-11-28 21:03:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20973014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlitMusings/pseuds/MoonlitMusings
Summary: Juno is feeling frustrated, and being in such close quarters with Nureyev every day isn't helping. He doesn't want things to get even more tense and awkward, but a lady can only take so much before he has to take matters into his own hands, so to speak.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Trying to get all my speculative season 3 fics out before the premier? It's more likely than you think.

Sometimes Juno swore Nureyev had to be doing it on purpose. There were little things he could brush off as being unintentional, or just in his head. It wasn’t Nureyev’s fault that Juno couldn’t help but stare at the points of his canines when he smiled, or at his smiles in general. He was bending over to get something out of a lower cabinet, not to show off how tight his pants were. The crop top could be because he ran warm, not because he wanted to entice Juno with the expanse of soft skin it revealed. But this? This was a bit much.

The crew was all together in the kitchen. They’d finished discussing the details of their next heist, and were now talking about what they planned to do while hiding out after on a nearby tourist trap of a planet. Juno hadn’t noticed Peter grab the apricot out of the fruit bowl on the counter, but he very much _did_ notice when he pulled out a knife from one of his seemingly bottomless pockets, sliced into it, and then ate the slice off the blade of the knife. He repeated the action absently, working his way through the fruit while Juno struggled to keep his jaw from dropping to the table. His pants were starting to feel a little tighter than he would like, but he figured it would be fine. Nothing too noticable. Until Nureyev noticed a stray drop of juice on the blade and licked it up. Just a quick flick of the tongue, but it was enough for Juno to decide he needed to be literally anywhere else.

“Well, this has been fun, but if you don’t need me for anything else, I’m gonna head back to my quarters,” he blurted, drawing weird looks from the rest of the table.

“Ooookaaayyy...” Buddy said, confused.

“Are you feeling alright?” Jet enquired.

“Yeah, fine. Just uh, remembered there’s something I need to go do. See you later.”

Juno hurried out of the room before anyone could ask anymore questions, and once he knew he was out of earshot he practically ran to his quarters. Once there, he leaned back against the wall and groaned, running his hands down his face. That man was going to be the death of him.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to talk to Nureyev about what had happened between them. He wanted to apologize, if nothing else. But either they had the worst timing in the world, or Nureyev was avoiding being alone with him, because he’d been on the ship for three weeks now and he still hadn’t managed to get in a room alone with the man for more than a few seconds. Juno wouldn’t blame him if he _was_ avoiding him, honestly. He probably deserved it. But it did leave them like this; Juno feeling awkward, Nureyev looking worryingly, irritatingly impassive and professional, and neither of them acknowledging the sewer rabbit in the room. They didn’t speak outside of a professional context, and Juno kept his feelings to himself. He’d left, Nureyev clearly wasn’t interested in rekindling things, and that was Juno’s choice to live with.

There was, however, another issue.

Juno wasn’t sure if anyone else had noticed — he hoped not, no one had said anything about his mood at least — but he was starting to feel a bit... frustrated. Not with the ship, or the crew, or the jobs. No, this was a very specific kind of frustration. Namely, he hadn’t been able to get himself off since he'd gotten on the ship. He’d tried, of course. Plenty of times. But every time, all he could think about was Nureyev.

He knew it might be silly. His feelings weren’t going anywhere, after all. And hell, they’d already slept together. But it still felt like there was a difference between staring at the guy and actively getting off to the thought of him. He wasn’t sure if it would make being around him easier or harder, but he was managing well enough as things were, and he wasn’t about to risk making them worse. That said, he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be managing well enough. Because so far the few times he was actually more successful at not thinking about Nureyev, he hadn’t been able to finish. It was a catch-22: think about Nureyev so he could get off, but risk feeling even _more_ tense around him, or don’t think about him and have the frustration get worse and worse.

It didn’t help that the more time they spent together, the more Juno’s brain had to work with. The memories from when they met, their first kiss, the casino and everything after, the hotel... those were bad enough. But since Juno had gotten on the ship, even the smallest things would keep popping into his head during the times he was trying hardest not to let them. He let his head thunk back against the wall as the image of Nureyev’s tongue sliding along the silver side of that knife popped into his head again and let out another groan. He reached for his zipper, then paused, and let his hand drop to his side with a sigh.

He grabbed a towel and headed to the bathrooms. He needed a cold shower.

—————————————————————————————————————————  
It was a couple days later the next time Juno decided to try to... take care of himself. It was late, and he was lying in bed, and just could not get his brain to quiet down enough for him to sleep. Soon enough his hand drifted down to rub himself through his boxers, and he huffed out a frustrated breath. This was ridiculous. There was no reason he shouldn’t be able to get himself off without thinking about Nur- certain people. (He couldn’t think his name. That was just asking to open the flood gates.)

He pushed down his boxers and wrapped a hand around himself, trying to lose himself in the feeling. Soon, though, his mind started to drift towards memories of what a different hand, soft and warm, with long, clever fingers, felt like around him. He knew by now that trying to push the thought away entirely wouldn't work, so he tried to adjust it. Long, soft fingers, sure, but someone else's. But every time he tried to picture a different person, it just ended up becoming one of Nureyev's aliases instead. Juno growled in frustration and tried to clear his mind. No fantasizing. Just focusing on the physical sensations. Maybe more sensation would help, he thought. He hadn't thought to bring any of his toys with him, but he could make do.

He brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked on two of them, laving his tongue over them thoroughly as his other hand kept stroking his cock, getting him harder. He brought his legs up, bending his knees and reaching down with his now damp fingers to tease at his own entrance. He knew it would work better if he bothered to actually grab lube, but frankly he wanted the extra friction. He hoped it would help keep his mind clearer. And it seemed to be working at first. He slid in one finger, then quickly added the other. He pressed in, searching for the right spot. Once he reached it, he worked it steadily, changing the speed of the hand pumping himself to match the rhythm of his fingers. He kept it up for a while, but eventually after changing positions, rhythm, pressure, he had to admit it still wasn't working. He flopped back onto his back, and let out a long, frustrated groan. As he laid there, frustrated and unsatisfied, the memory floated up again of Peter, casually eating slices of fruit off of that knife. Licking juice off the blade as though it wasn’t driving Juno up a wall.

“Fuck it,” Juno muttered to himself. He returned his hands to their previous positions and let his mind fill with Peter Nureyev. With memories of his touch, and thoughts of what else he might be able to do with those quick hands and that clever tongue. Juno moaned as he worked himself faster, letting himself imagine that the hands working him weren’t his own.

_”Oh, Juno...”_ the Nureyev in his head purred. _”You look so good like this. Good enough to taste.”_ Juno brought his hand up and licked his palm before returning it to his dick and letting the added wetness enhance the fantasy. He could feel the end rushing up and damn, but he should have given in and done this ages ago.

“Nureyev,” he whispered, his voice desperate even to his own ears. “Dammit, Nureyev, _Peter, please...”_ The Nureyev in his mind chuckled darkly.

_”That’s it, Juno. Beg for me. You’re desperate for me, aren’t you. Desperate for this. I’ve seen the way you’ve been staring at me, you know.”_

Juno moaned again, biting his lip to muffle the sound. The walls were thick enough that he didn’t think anyone would hear him if they walked by, but he really didn’t want to test that theory.

_"That’s right. Be careful, Juno. We wouldn’t want anyone to overhear, now would we?”_

He sped up his hands, stroked himself more firmly, and let himself drift in the fantasy. It was maybe a minute tops before he finally came. It was amazing, after going weeks without release. Good enough to leave him floaty and content for a few minutes while he came down from it all. But soon enough he was back to awareness, drawn out of his haze by the sticky mess on his skin growing colder and less comfortable thanks to the cool air of the ship. He resignedly got out of bed and grabbed some tissues to clean up with before laying back down. He stared up at the dark ceiling as he tried not to think too hard about what he’d just done. He did drift off, eventually. Though it took longer than he would’ve liked.

He was tired when he trudged to breakfast the next morning. Rita, Jet, and Nureyev were already there.

“Mornin’ Mistuh Seel!” Rita said through a mouthful of... Juno tried to ignore the fact that her breakfast looked like a bowl of her salmon crunchies in milk, like the galaxy’s worst cereal.

“Good morning, Juno,” Jet said, drawing his attention away.

“Yeah, mornin’,” he said, heading towards the coffee pot. Nureyev was at the counter, pouring himself a cup.

“Juno,” he said conversationally with a nod.

“Hey,” was all Juno managed in reply.

Nureyev silently handed Juno the coffee pot, but Juno fumbled when their fingers brushed, and Nureyev only barely caught it before it could spill or fall to the floor.

“Oh! Be careful, Juno,” he said. "We wouldn't want you to burn yourself, now would we?" Then, after a moment, “Are you alright?”

He wasn’t, actually. _”Be careful, Juno”_ rang in his head, over and over. Different tone, _very_ different context, but that exact phrasing in that _voice._ It brought him right back to the night before. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, _dammit._ He knew it. He knew it had been a bad idea.

“Juno?”

“Fine. I’m fine,” he finally replied, snapping out of it. He turned, leaving his mug on the counter and heading towards the door. “Didn’t sleep well. I’m going back to bed.”

Once he got back to his quarters, he flopped face-first onto his bed and wished that he could melt into the mattress. He almost could’ve laughed at the irony of it. He’d fucked himself metaphorically by fucking himself literally. He sighed. He’d have to pull himself together eventually. For now, though, he pulled the blankets up instead. He knew he probably wasn’t going to get any more sleep, but if nothing else, he really liked the thought of putting off facing everyone again, facing _Nureyev_ again, for at least another hour or two.


	2. For Present Consideration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juno isn't the only one having a hard time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I decided to do another chapter. What can I say? That premier got me inspired. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯   
Speaking of, there are mild spoilers for season 3 ep 1.

For future consideration.

For future consideration.

For future consideration.

Peter stood by his assertion that the future could wait indefinitely. In most cases, it could. However, one’s brain only had so much space in it, and his is currently full to bursting with hurriedly stowed half-thoughts about a certain ex-detective. He’d been doing so _well_ up until Juno Steel had boarded the ship. He’d been able to mostly keep him off his mind. Distract himself. But now there's nowhere to run. Especially with Captain Buddy forcing them together and keeping a watchful eye on them to gauge how well they work together. They only barely salvaged that disaster of a heist, which means he has to be even more careful about how he presents himself. So, he decided to do the only reasonable thing, and avoid Juno as much as possible. And when they do have to be around each other, he is... civil. Polite. Not quite friendly, but boardring on it. Which seems to be working fine. It would be working better if he didn’t keep catching Juno staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He’ll be going about his day and catch a glimpse of that piercing blue eye looking at him, only to look away before his own gaze can fully meet it. Juno’s expression is always so soft, at those moments. Something slightly sad, and almost longing, and — No. Fold it up. File it away under “for future consideration.”

That file in his brain is getting awfully full.

He goes about his days as normally as he can, doing his best to ignore Juno as much as possible. But the thoughts keep piling up and piling up until he swears he's getting headaches from the pressure of them all. As much as he hates to, he needs to let some of them out. Clear the files, so to speak. So he picks an evening when there's nothing planned for the rest of the night, or the next day, locks the door to his room, and settles in on his bed for an unpleasant but necessary evening.

As soon as he lets down his guard, his mind is flooded with thoughts of Juno. The way he had looked at him when he first saw him onboard the ship, full of shock and wonder and _hope._ The way he had looked in that ballgown, a shimmering goddess to rival his namesake. The way he’d grinned as he flirted with Nova during the heist. His smile in general, in all its shapes and sizes, announcing his feelings to the world as clear as any words. His laugh. Peter had realized the first time he’d heard it that he’d never actually heard Juno laugh before then. Not really. He’d never heard that bright, surprisingly bubbly sound — almost a giggle, really. Yet slightly breathy, as though Juno was out of practice. The thought makes Peter’s chest ache, and for the first time in months he lets the feeling linger there. And he continues to let it as his thoughts drift to the rhythm Juno had quickly fallen into with the rest of the crew. It was clear he had worked with Buddy and Jet before, even if Buddy hadn't said as much. For all Juno’s complaining, he clearly respected Buddy, and she had clearly figured out how to convince him to actually follow her lead. And as dry as Jet could be, he and Juno would banter in a way that could almost be described as playful. A pang of jealousy pierced through the gentle ache Peter had been floating in, and he honestly wasn’t sure whether it was towards Juno for his apparent friendship with someone Peter respected immensely but who clearly didn’t trust him, or towards Jet, for being able to banter with Juno the way that Peter had. The way he still wants to.

Peter rolls from where he was curled up on his side onto his back, staring up at the cold, gray ceiling. He takes a deep breath, and dives back into his memories. His mind floats back once more to that ball; back to the way the gold of the gown shimmered against Juno’s skin, which had been so temptingly warm beneath Peter’s fingers for the brief time they had been wrapped around Juno’s arm, escorting him inside. He's still irritated with Buddy for pushing them into the fake newlyweds cover, but he relishes the memory of that small point of contact. The memories of every point of contact. Like yesterday, when their fingers had brushed as Peter handed him the coffee pot. Juno had fumbled it and then rushed off, and Peter couldn’t help but wonder then, just as he does now, if it had been that small touch that affected Juno so dramatically.

Peter’s mind drifts back further, lingering on every brief touch they’d shared since Juno got on the ship, and then back even more. He skips over the hotel, for now. He isn’t ready to face that memory just yet. Instead he thinks about stitching him up at the Kanagawas’, and how easily they had flirted while he did. About the press of Juno's body and sweet little noises he’d made when they’d kissed. The way he’d rested a hand on his shoulder during the card game with Engstrom, the way they’d been pressed together on the train, and in the car. Soothing him as best he could in the tomb, with his fingers in Juno’s hair as Juno’s head rested on his lap. Another kiss, and holding him, after the bomb. And, and...

And the hotel.

He was so beautiful, every inch of him. His skin painted with scars, making constellations across his body as breathtaking as any in the night sky. Peter had traced them with his hands and mouth, and Juno had arched so prettily beneath him as he did. So eager, so responsive to every movement. He’d gasped and moaned so sweetly with every touch, every kiss. Peter could almost feel the way Juno’s nails had scraped across his back as he'd held him close. Could hear his whispered pleas and breathy cries. He had called out Peter’s name, at one point. His first name. Peter wasn’t sure if Juno had even realized it, or remembered, but at the time it had shaken Peter down to his core, and he could still feel the shockwaves of it through the memory.

He isn’t sure when his hand had drifted down and worked its way past his robe and into his panties, nor when the heat behind his eyes had worked its way out as the dampness on his cheeks and pillow, but he finds he doesn’t really have the energy to care. He just lets himself feel the friction as he strokes himself, and let the memories shift into fantasies. Juno, stunning in that dress, leaving golden lipstick smeared on Peter’s lips as they kiss. Peter quickly working open the buttons on the back and watching it fall to the floor before helping Juno step out of the pile of fabric. Seeing that bright, bright smile and hearing that laugh as Juno falls back on the bed, Peter eagerly following and kissing along his belly and chest and neck until their mouths meet again.

Peter — the real Peter — chokes out a breath, and he can’t tell if it’s merely shaky from the arousal, or if it's a quiet sob. He keeps going anyways. His hand moves faster, working himself roughly as he imagines thrusting into Juno instead. He doesn’t think about how close Juno’s room is. He doesn’t think about how easy it would be to walk down the hallway and knock on Juno’s door and beg him for another chance. Instead he focuses on the Juno in his mind’s eye, who’s shaking with pleasure, beautifully flushed with it. Who’s moaning and begging, desperate for him, crying out his name like it’s the only word he can manage — 

The sound Peter makes when he comes is definitely a sob. He can’t deny it, so he simply doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he tries to take deep breaths while his heart-rate slows. Once he mostly stops shaking, he gets up to grab some tissues, first cleaning up the mess on his torso, and then the worst of the mess on his face. It was good he’d taken off his makeup earlier. He checks the time, and decides he's unlikely to run into anyone if he makes a quick trip to the bathroom to wash his hands and splash some cold water on his face. He is, thankfully, correct, and manages to get there and back to his room without having to see or talk to anyone. His movements are vaguely mechanical as he pulls off his tear-stained pillowcase and switches it out for a dry one. His sheets managed to remain clean, thankfully, so he's able to climb back into bed without changing them. He's not sure he'd have the energy to change them if he needed. He lays on his side and curls up, hugging his knees to his chest. It doesn’t help with how hollowed-out he feels, but at least it feels comfortingly defensive. As he lays there, trying to fall asleep, Peter tries to decide if the pressure of all those thoughts before was really worse than the emptiness he feels now, having let them all loose.


End file.
